As it Returns19:29 Mar 19 2010
Times Read: 496
Standing there, staring at the contents of the trunk, I feel the utmost confidence that everything is perfect this time. I pick up and put the shovel towards the back. The other items are laid on a green tarp, in their respective order. I close the hood and rest my hands there, inhaling the sweet air of this night, this perfect night. I feel the pressure in my jeans raise, a sure sign that I need to calm down and center myself. Getting this excited will only lead to the sloppy mistakes I am trying to avoid. I give myself a moment and push my erection against the back of the car. I feel the accelerated throb through its length. If I don’t keep to schedule, I will have to scrap what might be my last chance.
This time everything will be done right. I have watched you, seen the way you look at me. I know you want this as much as I do. Everything is prepared. I do not want any surprises. Just once more I’ll run through the checklist: full tank of gas, flashlight, rope, tape, scissors, knife, camera, and shovel…
No, I won’t need that tonight, because I know you are the one. I know I haven’t made that mistake again. I have made so many of them. So many wrong choices, and all of them cruel harpies with no notion of the pleasure I could bring. With the bad memories comes a gust of wind. It rides its way up my spine, igniting goose flesh, but I do not feel the cold. I never get cold. On nights like tonight I have thoughts of you to warm me. The way you walk; the sound of your voice; the way you smell, it is all intoxicating to me. In my head I can hear you calling my name, “Oh God, please help me!” Don’t worry, my love, your God is here. You never have to worry again.
It’s getting late, and the department store parking lot is beginning to empty. You go shopping every other Wednesday after work. I can see you now, exiting. You are carrying a few bags, with your keys already in your hand. No doubt this is a precaution taught to you by a parent or spouse. Like always, you will be going straight home. I have made this trip many times before. Travel down Parker a few miles, a right onto Sawyer, then a left on to Fielding. Your house is the 3rd white one on the left hand side. Your husband won’t be home. He never gets there earlier than 9:30. I try to imagine what you are listening to on this ride. Aimlessly I turn through the stations, hoping I have learned what you truly like. It brings a tear to my eye, you like the same music I do.
Your street is filled with identical homes, with identical gardens, and identical minivans. Not your home. You have something special, an energy and playfulness that cries out for what I can give you. You’re still alive, fresh and youthful. My sweetness can’t grow old or dull, further proof that you are not happy where you are, with him. Your garage door begins to open while you are still pulling into the driveway. I know you will keep it open until you have carried in all the bags. Tonight this is an invitation for me alone. Without wasting a single second, I jump out of my parked car and make my way to the shadow of your neighbor’s home. I silently thank them for not having security lights, and steadily make my way to the side of your house.
I have practiced this path many times, but I have to admit it was flawless tonight, even with my growing nervousness.
From this point on I will be entering territory I have only fantasized about. Like I have imagined many times, I slip inside and find a hiding place behind some boxes stored in the garage. I’m as silent as the grave. The anticipation of my having made it this far has come to a head. No amount of concentration will stop this aching need. I am hungry for you, and only you will satisfy that hunger. My heart feels like it could beat a hole through my chest. You come back into the garage, look around, and then head back towards the door. Blindly you reach for the button that will ultimately lock me inside with you. The mechanical whirring of the automatic garage door opener hides the sounds of my subtle movements. As the garage door closes, the overhead light shuts off and I have this blessed darkness to hide my entrance. At first I am too excited to move past the door frame. I wonder why, just for a second, you didn’t close the door behind you. A silent and subconscious invitation yet again. I ponder. Carefully I step in, knowing that you are close by. You must have gone into the living room or up stairs to unpack a few of your shopping bags. I close the door to the garage behind me. Slowly I walk into what I am guessing is the dining room of what is soon to be my new home. We will surely make it a great home, a loving home for the both of us. I try to listen for a sign of your movements upstairs or down. There is nothing, until... Wait, what was that? From behind me I hear padded foot falls, like someone wearing overly fluffed slippers. There is more to the sound, something else. A clicking, is that a clicking? It most certainly is. I turn quickly, moving my body away from this noise that is steadily coming closer. The only thought that comes to mind is to call out your name, because someone else is here, and I am sure they don’t have my good intentions.
“Sara,” I whisper. “Sara, where are you? It’s me. I need to know where you are. I don’t think it’s…”
“Safe?” The voice came from behind me, in the direction of the clicking noise. “Who are you and, not to sound cliché, what are you doing in my house?” Her words came more like an animal’s purr or growl, like there was something in the back of her throat giving off a vibration that was secondary to her voice box.
“I’m… I’m…” My mouth could not form words.
“Stop stuttering. I know who you are,” Sara said. “ And I know you have been following me for quite some time. You have been watching me go to work, shop, and I only hope, for your well being, that you have not been watching me sleep too.” Sara let out a long breath and stepped out of the darkness.
What came out was not her, not the woman I wanted to be with. I found it hard to even describe what I was seeing. In front of me stood (well, not actually stood but more stooped) a large dog of some sort. Its eyes were ice blue, and just as cold as the colors name. Brown fur lined its chest and front legs, but the face was white, even in this darkness. It crouched down and cocked its head at me. I wait for a second, expecting Sara to walk out from behind what appeared to be a very well trained, very convincing watchdog.
“Good boy, no need to get angry. Shhh..”
“Who are you calling a ‘boy’?” Sara's voice echoed out of the beat infront of me.
“Holy sheee-iiit!” With that I was running for the door.
“Stop Micheals!” She barked. She barked, the bitch actually barked! But I listened. “I don’t know what your intentions are exactly, but I am sure they are not good. The only thing I can say is… You have just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
There was no time, not even a split second, for him to react to the swift and brutal way Sara came at him. It was over before his intended words left his mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
COMMENTS
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Bloodmother
16:57 Jun 30 2010
Good use of tension. Would have liked to see more between the two.
WolfWhisperer
21:14 Jul 03 2010
It is only the preface to a book I am writing. Like most novels, that situation with be in greater detail near the end of book. :)